Painful Recollections
by UnOriginalOne
Summary: “His face pops up on the screen, so small and innocent. I cry, for everything that we lost, and everything he’ll never be.” When the Press dig up images from Mac and Rod’s past, how do they deal with the sudden public interest? And will the American peopl
1. Chapter 1

Title: Painful Recollections

Author: Chickiee-Dee (aka Alyce)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Forgot, it last time. Oops. I don't own Commander in Chief or anything related to it.

Summary: "His face pops up on the screen, so small and innocent. I cry, for everything that we lost, and everything he'll never be." When the Press dig up images from Mac and Rod's past, how do they deal with the sudden public interest? And will the American people ever truly understand? Mac POV.

Authors Notes: Another fic that owes it's existence to avoidance, this time Psych, Politics, English and History, alright my entire course, and life in general. This was intended to be a one shot, but I wanted to split it up a little to give me a chance to figure out exactly what I want to say. Next part should be posted in a couple of weeks God-Willing, 'cause I really need to get my work done before exams.

Painful Recollections Part One 

Making my way over to the dresser, I pull out the top draw, digging through its contents until I come across a small packet of photographs. They're beginning to yellow round the edges, the paper finally succumbing to age. A young boy's face stares back at me, a toothy grin evident on his tiny face. He is holding up two fingers, as he smiles proudly at the cake set before him. A blue party hat is perched on his head, and his other hand holds his favourite teddy tightly. I put the picture down carefully and begin flipping through the remaining photos that still rest in my grip. As I examine each picture individually the tears begin to flow once again, just like so many years prior. Hearing Amy's voice out in the hall brings me back to some semblance of reality and I slide the photo's back into their packet carefully, and restore them to their hiding place, just as Amy comes bounding into the room, a lollipop stick hanging from her mouth. She runs into my outstretched arms and I pick my baby up, her legs wrapping round my waist as her head rests on my shoulder. There are days when I miss him more than others. This is one of them.

Early the next morning I'm standing outside, lapping up the early morning rays, my coffee mug comfortably resting in my grip, it's warmth keeping my fingers from becoming numb in the chilly air. I'm not surprised when Rod comes up behind me, his strong arms wrapping themselves around my mid-section as his head comes to rest on my shoulder, his lips close to my ear, his warm breath tickling it as he speaks softly, "Morning," he whispers quietly, leaning forward a little further to place a soft kiss on my cheek. I lean back into his arms a little, knowing that in some way he's knows what's on my mind, understanding my desire for silence, especially today. We stand there quietly, relishing in the fact that we can hold each other today, and lose ourselves in our memories without too much interruption. I vaguely notice Kelly coming over, clearing her throat as she approaches us. "Excuse me Ma'am, but there is something on TV that you may want to see." I nod and we follow her inside, and I'm not surprised to find Jim waiting. Sitting my mug on the desk, I flip the switch on the remote, an all too familiar face appearing on the screen. A pair of brown eyes stare back at us, and the bright smile on the toddlers face is eerily familiar. Moving my eyes down lower I notice the caption on the bottom of the screen _"Presidential secrets discovered. The child Mackenzie Allen didn't want us to know about."_ Reading the caption over and over, it hits me as I stumble backwards, hoping to find something to keep me upright. Rod, in a similar state of shock comes over to me, a dazed look plastered on his face. He pulls me into his arms once more, a gesture of comfort for both of us, as we both stare dumbly at the screen. I'm sure the others are confused, but right now, I couldn't care less, as my mind tries to wrap itself around the information that more than anything I wanted to remain private. Before I can even begin to react to this revelation, I need to see my children, they've undoubtedly seen the news, and will be looking for an explanation. "Jim, inform the Secret Service the children aren't going to school today." He nodded his agreement and sets off to make the call. I turned slightly to face Rod, our eyes meeting, "I think it's time," I whispered, knowing that this was something we should've done years ago. Rod kissed my forehead in agreement and we turned to head down to the Residence. "Excuse us," I said to Kelly, "We'll be in Residence if you need anything."

"An explanation would be good Ma'am," Kelly said, her voice shaky.

"Later. If anyone asks, no comment at this stage." Taking my husband by the hand, I leaned my head on his shoulder, in an attempt to comfort myself somewhat, as we headed back towards the Residence, where Horace, Becca and Amy would be waiting, no doubt full of questions.

We slowly approach the Residence and I'm not surprised to hear yelling, Becca's voice the clearest, and in that instant I knew she had seen the news, and confronted her Grandmother wanting answers. Rod and I step into the room, and as we do, I'm still not mentally prepared for this talk, which was long overdue. "Mum!" Becca yelled, "What are they on about? Were you? Did you?"

"No," Rod says, quite forcefully, as Becca steps back a little. "Sit, and we'll explain, but you have to let us."

"So this has to do with you both?" Horace asks, his eyes darting back and forth between us. "Yes," I answer him quietly. I look my son in the eye, the tears threatening to fall, and he backs away, taking a seat next to Mum and Amy. Becca sighs loudly before she too, sits down, anger evident in her normally calm eyes. Taking Rod's hand again, he squeezes it comfortingly as we prepare to tell our children something that Mum believes we should have told them years ago. "Yes, the child on the news is mine…ours. He was your older brother. When I was pregnant with you two," I gesture to Becca and Horace, who are sitting there stunned, "something happened to him…"

Eighteen years ago… 

_I step into the living area of our small house, smiling happily as I notice my husband sitting opposite our son, crayons spread before them. Rubbing my largely expanded stomach, I waddle slowly over to them, easing myself down onto the couch, and leaning up against the thick cushions we'd bought when I was pregnant with Samuel. As I lay back Rod comes over, resting his hand over mine, and together we feel the frenzied movements of our children, due to arrive in a matter of weeks. "Must be playing again," Rod comments and Samuel comes toddling over to us, _

"_Me play?" he asks in his innocent little voice._

"_Soon, sweetie. They're not big enough yet," I tried to explain to the bewildered two year old, though secretly I was hoping they'd come sooner rather than later, my back throbbed 24/7. _

_Later that week as I lay spread out on the banana lounge, which faced the generously sized backyard, my thoughts were far from the slowly dissipating ache that plagued my body daily, since Rod's fingers had become expert in reliving the pain, giving me more pleasurable things to concentrate on as he kneaded my upper body gently. After a few minutes of relative silence, I held my hand up to stop him, "Honey, where's Sam?" I asked, unable to see my young son over the mound in front of me. Immediately I felt Rod's hand leave my shoulders and his shadow blocked the sun from my eyes as I tried to wiggle myself upright. I was in the middle of my efforts when I hard my husband yell, "Oh my God, Mac call an Ambulance." I reached over to one side, picking up the cordless from the table next to me. Quickly dialling 911 as I was instructed, though I still wasn't sure why, I finally managed to stand, the muscles in my back revolting against the sudden movements. Half walking, half running I made my way over to where Rod was crouched on the ground, next to the still form of our only child, and I spoke frantically to the operator, who was trying valiantly to keep me calm, even as I watched my husband perform CPR on my baby. Time passed in a blur and within half an hour we were sitting in the waiting room of the local hospital, where he'd been born a mere two years earlier. A Doctor dressed in a traditional long white coat came over to us, his head hanging low, "Mr and Mrs Calloway, I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do." I buried my face into Rod's side, trying to make myself believe that this was all a dream, "Would you like to see him?" he asked gently, as we both stood up, supporting each other's weight so we could remain both remain standing, while we followed him to where our Baby was lying cold and motionless. His hair was slightly damp from the water, and his skin was so pale, I reached out to take his tiny hand in mine for what would likely be the last time, and I ungracefully sat down next to my son, laying my head on the sheet next to him, and allowing myself to cry._

"He drowned," I shook my head, trying to force all the bad memories back into the recesses of my mind, "in a puddle, we didn't see him, didn't hear him. Until it was too late." I leaned further into Rod's arms, replicating my movements from so many years ago."Your mother and I didn't hear anything, one minute he was playing and the next he was gone. Not a sound," Rod said, taking over from me, repeating my earlier words, as he attempted to emphasize that there was nothing we could have really done, his head shaking slightly as we remembered the shock we'd received that day. The kids were silent, obviously shocked, as Mum sat there, and although she already knew about what had happened, she still looked a little dazed, the conversation no doubt bringing up memories she too had tried to suppress. Becca was the first to speak, "What was his name? Our brother?"

"His name was Samuel, Sam for short," Rod answered, having found his voice marginally quicker than I. "How come you've never mentioned him before?" Horace asked. I'd been waiting for that question. "We don't talk about it much. Too painful." I looked at Rod for a moment and he nodded, "I guess we blame ourselves for what happened, but he's always been there in the back of our minds. We didn't tell you because this is our burden, our penance for not paying more attention to him when we should have. And even as the years pass, the guilt never goes away, and every time I think about him, it brings back all the feelings of inadequacy that I felt at the time." I felt Rod squeeze my hand a little tighter as I tried hard to keep the tears that had built from falling.

Almost an hour later Jim arrived in the Residence, Kelly tagging along behind him. "Excuse me Madame President," Jim said quietly, as he stood to one side of the doorway. I stood slowly, making my way over to where Jim and Kelly were waiting. "Ma'am, the press would like a statement. They're all over the story; it's overshadowing everything else. Is there any chance that you would be available this afternoon for comment?" I sighed, knowing that this would be coming,

"I'm not sure I'll be ready this afternoon," I pause, "A statement will be released sometime tomorrow, until then, no comment. All my appointments can be pushed back an hour and I'll be up in the Oval in 30 minutes." Adding their agreement Jim and Kelly exit, Rod and I follow soon after to prepare ourselves for what is undoubtedly going to be a long day.

It is late that night when I finally return to the Residence. As predicted, it was a very long day, the late start didn't help matters much, and from what I'd heard, Kelly had copped a lot of crap from the Press over her refusal to comment on the story, which had broken earlier that morning. By some grace of God, Rod had made it home much earlier than me, and I'm sure had spent much of the evening answering the children's endless questions about Sam. Jim must've spoken with other members of the Staff, who weren't as full of questions as usual. I'd spent much of the evening trying to word my statement, which I was due to deliver mid-morning tomorrow. Heading into the living room, I dropped my exhausted form on the sofa, leaning back into the cushy fabric, praying that it would swallow me whole, so I didn't have to face what was going to be a media circus. Tired of the deafening silence, I flipped on the TV and his face popped up on the screen again. He looks so small and innocent, just like the day when we finally buried him. And once again I cry, I cry for everything that we lost, and everything that I know he'll never be. The cushion beside me dips and I hear the TV click off, as a pair of arms wrap around me. "Its ok Mac, let it all out," Mum's soothing voice speaks softly in my ear, and I burrow further into her arms. I may be approaching fifty, but there are still some days when all I want is to be a little girl again, shielded from the evils of this world.

I don't remember going to bed, but when I woke up the next morning that's exactly where I was, Rod watching me closely. "Hi," I said, my voice scratchy.

"Hey," he replied, coming a little closer so he could place a soft kiss on my forehead. "Do you want me with you today? When you?"

"More than anything," I told him, still a little in denial that the Press had actually found out, and completely oblivious to how. Reluctantly I stood up, sliding my feet into the pair of slippers that made their home next to the nightstand, and heading into the bathroom. Rod followed me, "Mac, honey. Talk to me," he pleaded, the many years of togetherness teaching my husband all the signs of when I was hiding something. "I just wanna know how they found out."

"If they wanna find a way, they will, it was only gonna be a matter of time."

"Couldn't they have released it on a better day, yesterday was gonna be hard enough without us having to go through all of that."

"They did it to get at you. To hurt your campaign, they'll use anything they can get their hands on. It's not meant to be fair, or to take into account your feelings." I sigh, knowing he's right. "I don't want the kids to go to school today, they need time, and the press is gonna be all over them. I want to try and protect them as much as we can, I just wish that we could have protected Sam in the same way," I admit tearfully. And once again he's there for me, putting his own fears and doubts aside so he can be there for me, and as I lose myself in his arms, I can only pray that I have the strength I'm gonna need to get through this day.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Painful Recollections

Author: Chickiee-Dee (aka Alyce)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Forgot, it last time. Oops. I don't own Commander in Chief or anything related to it.

Summary: "His face pops up on the screen, so small and innocent. I cry, for everything that we lost, and everything he'll never be." When the Press dig up images from Mac and Rod's past, how do they deal with the sudden public interest? And will the American people ever truly understand? Mac POV.

Authors Notes: **Ok it's been almost a year since I started this fic, and I'm finally happy enough (and have actually finished writing the 2nd part). I can offer the usual excuses but to put it simply, Real life got in the way, and I lost someone close to me a few weeks ago, and I've spent a lot of sleepless nights re-evaluating my life, and writing is helping me heal. That being said, I'm not 100 satisfied with the way I've ended this fic, so there might be more, if you guys feel its unfinished, I'll think long and hard about adding more onto it. Thanks for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy it.**

Part Two 

I step into the Pressroom, all eyes turning towards me as Kelly announces my entrance. I shuffle the pieces of paper I'm carrying, as I arrange them on the podium. I look slightly to the side and am able to make out Rod's form off to the left of me, standing near Kelly, and other Staff who have gathered for the announcement. I make eye contact with my husband briefly and he urges me to speak, taking a deep breath I began the well-prepared statement, "There has been talk over the past 36 hours of a young child, whose photograph has been plastered across television screens and newspapers alike. The Press has claimed that this child is mine, that I've tried to conceal the identity of this infant, and yes that is true.

"The infant in question was our son. He passed away shortly before I gave birth to the twins. I have tried to conceal the existence of our other son, not because I want to forget him, I never could, but to avoid a situation like this. I'm not ashamed of my baby, who I never really had the chance to know, I'm ashamed of the way in which he lost his life.

"I can see many of you in this room formulating questions, I'll save you the time. Samuel, my dear son, drowned in our backyard, before our eyes. And the guilt that both myself and my husband feel over his death has not diminished over the years, nor do I think it ever will. It's been eighteen years since his death and not a day goes by that he isn't in the recesses of my mind.

"So I ask you to please respect our privacy in this matter, and allow us to grieve our loss in private, Samuel doesn't deserve to be used as a vessel to discredit me, and since he can't be here with me, all I wish is that he rest in peace. Thank you." I turned around, ignoring the multitude of reporters that were calling my name. I stopped just outside the room, allowing myself to drop into my husbands arms as I dissolved into tears, the emotion taking over. Barely aware of my surroundings, I shuffle my feet across the floor as I'm lead in what I assume to be the direction of the Oval. I can hear Rod's muffled voice as he gently sits me down on one of the couches. "Mac?" he asks softly, lifting my chin up so my eyes were level with his, "Are you ok?" I nod unconvincingly, and he tightens his grip on me, rubbing broad stokes up my back in a gesture that's always had a soothing effect.

Later that afternoon as I sit alone in the Oval, I am able to gain a little more perspective over the events that have occurred in the past two days. Kelly's already begun looking into the source of the leak, and she's sadly still dealing with a multitude of questions surrounding Samuel. As always it seems that the Press weren't happy with the explanation that I offered them earlier in the day, though I don't think even the most well detailed announcement is enough for then. In an effort to make Kelly's job somewhat easier over the next week or so, I've provided her with some details that we want released, so we can control the story as much as possible. My mind is elsewhere when Templeton comes into the Oval. Great, just what I need right now. I motion for him to take a seat, and he dutifully accepts. "I just want to pass on my sympathy," he said. As if. He probably dug up the info and sent it off. Anything to get elected. "Why? What do you want Mr. Speaker?"

"Want?" he asked, disbelievingly. "I assure you Madame President, I want nothing." I scoff at his comment. Nathan Templeton never wants 'nothing.'

"I'm sorry Mr. Speaker, I have a meeting in five minutes. If you'll excuse me." I stood up, gesturing for him to leave. I really don't have the energy to deal with him today, actually, I never have the energy to deal with him. He stands up as I come around the desk to politely shake his hand. I may not enjoy having him pay surprise visits to the Oval, but the least I can do is be polite.

The days drag on at an agonisingly slow rate, and the interest in the death of our son hasn't diminished much. The press conference last night was one of the longest that I've experienced thus far. Members of the Press Corps were more interested in having me answer direct questions about Samuel, seemingly dissatisfied with getting the information second hand from Kelly. By the time it was over, I was drained, all but throwing myself on one of the sofas in the Oval, attempting to gather my thoughts as more memories came flooding back.

_The service was small, immediate family and close friends only. I clutched Rod's hand tighter as I eyed the small white casket that stood at the front of the church. I blocked out the minister's words as I tried to picture our son in my mind. His angelic face was imbedded in my consciousness and I couldn't help but wonder what he would have looked like as he grew. A sharp kick in my left side reminded me of the children that I was carrying, and a slight smile spread over my face. I knew that I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that nothing happened to my babies, who technically were due any moment now. The service concluded and everyone rose to watch as Samuel was carried out of the church and into the waiting hearse. The ride to cemetery passed by slowly and as we stepped onto the soft green grass my stomach tightened in knots. It finally seemed real, the hole in the ground told me so. His casket was lowered onto the mechanism that would be used to commit his body to the earth. Minutes passed by like hours, and finally it was over. My son's body was underground, and I would never again hold him. Never get to watch him grow up. He would never get to meet his siblings that he was so excited about in his own child-like way. I stood rooted to the ground, staring as the workmen stood to one side, waiting for us to leave so they could fill in the hole where my only son lay. Rod dragged me away sometime later. I would've stayed there if he hadn't, ignoring the ache that I felt deep in my stomach. It was only when I finally sat in the car did I feel it. The sharp pains in my abdomen, and I knew that the twins for getting ready to make their appearance. "Rod, we need to go to the hospital," I said calmly as his eyes flashed with recognition. He nodded and turned the car around, speeding off towards the hospital, where our family would start over. _

Horace and Becca were born the next day. My two new miracles began their lives only hours after we buried their older brother. I remember feeling entirely helpless as I held their tiny bodies in my arms, afraid that if I did something wrong then God would take them from me too, and that was something I couldn't stomach. I spent every waking moment with them. My showers, when Rod forced me into one, took only minutes, long enough for a quick scrub before I climbed out again, desperate to get back to them. For the first 18 months I barely left their side, then eventually I had to return to work, and it killed me. I worried constantly that something might happen to them while I was working, and as they approached the age that Samuel had been I didn't dare let them outside unsupervised, the wounds I had from losing Sam were all too fresh. "Mum?" a voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up, noticing Becca standing before me. I motioned for her to sit next to me and she obliged, "What's wrong sweetie?" I asked.

"Tell me about Sam, please." A small tear escaped my eye and dribbled down my cheek, wiping it away roughly I gathered my thoughts before replying, "He looked just like your father and he was so excited about having a baby brother and sister. He used to ask when he would be able to play with you, and he always talked to my stomach, in his baby chatter." I paused. "I'm not sure what really happened, your dad and I…we were talking on the veranda, we only looked away for a second, and then we noticed how incredibly quiet it was. Sam always made a lot of noise when he was playing, so when the yard was silent, it roused our suspicions but it was too late. The doctor's couldn't do anything to save him. And it destroyed us. We were only young then, and he was our first, we felt like such failures, that's why we kept him secret all these years, we've been to ashamed to talk about him."

"Do you have any pictures of him?" Becca asked quietly, wiping away her own tears.

"Yeah, I keep them hidden, but we have some, they're getting old and faded now, but they help us remember."

"What happened to all of his things?"

"Boxed up, in storage somewhere I guess along with all of your things. We packed everything up afterwards, we didn't want to be reminded of what happened, we wanted to start again." I pulled Becca closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, attempting to draw some comfort from my little girl. We sat there for hours, exhaustion finally taking its toll as I fell asleep, my daughter cradled in my arms.

The wind blows through the trees as we make our way through the long rows of headstones, following a path I knew so well, so many years ago. For several minutes more we traipse through the rows until we finally reach our destination, my heart ripping out of my chest just like it did all those years ago. I'm touched to see bunches of fresh flowers laying before the headstone, and a quick examination reveals that they're from members of the public who share our in our grief. I take a moment to read the headstone, and remember how difficult it was to come up with the right words to sum up all that our son was in his short life.

_Samuel Jacob Calloway_

_15.06.1996 – 05.07.1998_

_Treasured son of Rod and Mackenzie_

_Taken too soon, but never forgotten_

The inscription on the simple black headstone filled me with longing, as I wondered how his life would've turned out if not for our ignorance. He was a bright child, inquisitive about everything, and he loved the idea of having little babies to play with. I lay down a large bouquet of flowers that we bought with us and step back. Horace, Becca and Amy stand behind us, completely silent. I think actually being here and seeing his grave has shocked them into believing that we really did have another child, who sadly never had the chance to grow up. Some of the photos that we have of him have started to slowly appear alongside all our others, and another lays in the Oval, waiting to be framed and shown to the world. Amy steps forward quietly, and places the photo that she bought with her. _'Sam might want to see what we look like'_, she told me, her innocence shining through. The picture she bought was one of the whole family from last Christmas, the most recent she could find with everyone in it. _'And every year we need to bring him a new one'_ she reasoned, _'so he doesn't forget.'_ We stood there for a while longer before we finished placing all that we had bought for him, and turning around to face the long journey back to the White House.

**A/N: Just to clarify, the dates used for Sam's birth and death are worked out based on the premise that the show takes place in 2015. **


End file.
